


i’ve never fallen from quite this high, falling into your ocean eyes

by carpethefanfics



Series: we were just kids when we fell in love [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Artist Ian, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Maybe not the one you're expecting, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Smoking, Swearing, The Mexico storyline, Threats, photographer Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:06:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carpethefanfics/pseuds/carpethefanfics
Summary: “I just knew that when I knew, I needed to tell you.”Mickey snorts, “You’ve never been one to hold back Gallagher.”Mickey’s fiddling with Ian’s fingers the way he does when they’re cuddled in bed and Ian’s arm is wrapped around Mickey’s middle. It makes him feel so fucking fond that he wishes he wasn’t driving so he could pull Mickey’s mouth to his, “One day, I’m going to ask.” He feels Mickey’s fingers still against his and he can’t help but turn his hand over so they’re fingers are interlocking. He squeezes as he continues, “Because I want that- with you- I do.”
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: we were just kids when we fell in love [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764802
Comments: 10
Kudos: 62





	i’ve never fallen from quite this high, falling into your ocean eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to end this series here. Thank you for convincing me to write it and for following it and for all the wonderful love you've given each piece.
> 
> Title is Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish.
> 
> Enjoy.

Mickey continues to tell him about the years they spent a part- about where he had gone, who he had met, what he had done. Some of it makes Ian’s skin crawl- the jobs for the cartel with his brother. The brutality and the violence and the way Mickey controlled his voice the entire time he spoke like he was still afraid someone was listening to them through the walls as they laid in the darkness. It made Ian feel disconnected from him because for as many experiences they shared, for as many firsts that were theirs- there were just as many firsts Mickey should haver have had to have. Even the experiences before they met, the diverse and sometimes worse than the next story ones, Ian could relate. The Milkoviches and the Gallaghers – royally fucked up and that way for life. But this- bangers and drug bricks and border transactions with guns.

Ian couldn’t even begin to understand it all.

Each night, lying on his back in bed next to Mickey as his voice filtered through the air, he was trying to be present- live in this moment. But he felt so torn because he was also trying to return to the spontaneity of their bar date, of their life before the four years of distance. So, when Mickey’s voice drifted off and the silence grew long enough Ian knew Mickey was done speaking about his past for the night, Ian would roll over with a flirty smirk and bedroom eyes.

He would kiss his way along the juncture from Mickey’s shoulder to his neck as Mickey rolled onto his back with soft, rich eyes and a smile. Ian crawled his way over him, knees between his legs and lips decorating his chest. Let his hands drift down Mickey’s sides as he pressed along his collar, down his chest where the tattoo of Ian’s name still sits. He can’t help but linger there over his ribs and across his stomach. At least there’s a familiarity in this- in the vertical scar that runs on the left of Mickey’s belly button. But there’s also something new, on the lower right half of Mickey’s abdomen, right above his hip. Ian’s eyes dance over the punctured, healed skin.

He stills when Mickey’s voice practically resounds, “ _Deal gone wrong.”_

It breaks him, a little bit.

He’s been trying not to feel so responsible. His therapist- and Mickey- had assured him that not everything rested on his shoulders. But he couldn’t help the nagging feeling in the back of his skull whispering what felt like the truth. _If you hadn’t broke up with him, if you hadn’t cheated on him, if you hadn’t pushed him to kiss you, if you hadn’t … he wouldn’t have gone._ He knew Mickey would tell him to shut up- tell Ian that he had agency and _yeah, he was fucking heartbroken, but he made those choices_. He could have easily done something else.

Ian isn’t sure he’s convinced yet that he played such a minor role in Mickey running towards danger.

So, without saying the apologies he wants to say because Mickey is guaranteed to roll his eyes, he places one into every press of his lip. He moves them over the new scar as he continues on what feels like an exploration of a new body- one that he feels both connected to and broken off from. There’s a duality to them now. Mikhailo and Ian. _Mickey_ and Ian. They’re who they were and also not even close to being those two kids again at all.

He hears the familiar taunting of Mickey’s voice again, _“You gunna fuck with me all night or you gunna get to it?”_ He flicks his eyes up to see that smirk where Mickey’s mouth is open, and his tongue is pressing into his cheek. All Ian can do is laugh as he winks at him.

There are other things though- other stories that Mickey tells him, and it makes him laugh into Mickey’s shoulder deep and true and wonderfully. He’s picturing Mickey as a fucking bartender mopping up vomit and beer and harassing customers who ask for too many things. Ian asked to hear it, he wanted to know it all. And Mickey tells him with eyerolls and muttering and biting his cheeks the way he does when he doesn’t want to smile to big.

He tells Ian about his co-workers and his angry boss and his terrifying roommate.

_“You’d like her- she’s sweet but she’s got that southside charm too.”_

_“Maybe I’ll get to meet her.”_

And he tells Mickey what he had been up to too- well, little by little, for the most part. He tells him about the travelling from the golden coast to the eastern seaboard and back again. Tells him about the photos he took and why he took them and how they had spiraled him into this strangely uncomfortable fame. First in Chicago before hit started happening all over the place.

He takes Mickey to the dark room he uses.

_“I took this right after you left- spent a lot of time there looking at the city.”_

_“Can kind of see the bullet holes I left in the wall”_

_“Made me feel like you were still here.”_

He tells him about the guys. It happens unexpectedly and angrily, and Ian wants to reel it all back into himself so he can pretend it didn’t happen. So, he doesn’t have to see the way Mickey judges him- even if he doesn’t mean to. And Mickey doesn’t really want to hear it and Ian can’t blame him for that. But he runs into a few people who ask him to come out to ‘their spot’- people who ask him when he’s going to be back in New York or slide their phone number across the bar top when he’s sitting with Mickey’s hand on his thigh.

_“Did you fuck the whole eastern seaboard while I was gone?”_

Ian cringes. He deserves that. 

He can’t help but think that whoever said the truth will set you free wasn’t clearly telling the whole fucking truth.

So, the next few times it happens- without even running it by Mickey or thinking a whole lot about it- he tells them _he’s got a boyfriend_. He says _he’s taken_. He says _he can’t because he has dinner plans with his partner_. He says it so much when Mickey isn’t around that he doesn’t really think it’s a problem. It starts becoming second nature to refer to Mickey that way. Until, well, Mickey slams the front door and comes rushing around the corner of the front hall like a goddamn bull with a magazine gripped tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck!”

Ian’s cleaning a few camera lenses on the island in the kitchen and he’s frozen still, staring curiously at Mickey when he slams the rolled-up thing in his hand down. It’s the Tribune. And there’s a picture of Ian, smiling, in the center of a room with his pictures on the walls. He’s not sure what’s happening, so he places the lens down and looks at Mickey’s incredulous state.

“What the fuck Ian?”

“My interview… with the Tribune?”

Mickey snorts, “Yeah, yeah, interview. Got real **_fucking_** personal, didn’t you?”

Mickey starts peeling his jacket off and strolls over to lean against the back of the couch in the living room. Ian’s looking between him and the magazine and he suddenly does not at all remember what he’s said in it. He talked about his family… his life on the sousthside… had even talked about being gay, but Mickey wouldn’t be mad at that. Would he?

He flips it open to the page of his interview and scans the lines slowly.

 **Interviewer:** How did you get into it all?

 **Ian** : Photography was like my escape- had one teacher in my whole life who gave a shit, most didn’t on the southside which isn’t really all that fucking surprising. But this one did. And he gave me an old camera he had and, well, the rest is history.

…

 **Interviewer** : You have said so many times that so many of your shots are really personal to you. But they’re mainly scenery. Can you tell us why these shots, which some people call generic Chicago scenes, are more than that?

 **Ian** : There’s memory… in a place, it holds memories, you know? Your childhood home, your old high school, your old street- you have memories there and when you go back it’s almost like passing through time. You probably imagine yourself learning to ride a bike on that sidewalk or the first time you fell in love in those hallways. For me, these places are all memories.

 **Interviewer** : So, this one, it’s the alley behind Cook County- the juvenile center- were you in there?

 **Ian** : Uh no- no, I wasn’t but someone I care about very much was a few times. A lot of the photos in that first series are places that remind me of him.

 **Interviewer** : And this person- it sounds like he’s your muse. Is that _all_ he is?

 **Ian** : I- well- he- he was my… he _is_ my … I mean… No, that’s not all he is.

 **Interviewer** : Well Ian, there have been quite a few rumors flying around that you’re off the market as well. So, I guess what I’m asking, these two- the muse and the partner- wouldn they happen to be one in the same?

 **Ian** : They-ah- they would actually. Mickey is and has very much been my muse.

 **Interview** : Well, Mickey is very lucky to have a boyfriend who is such a talented artist.

 **Ian** : I’m lucky to have him.

…

_Oh shit._

“I- Mickey-” Ian peers up at him and instead of the angry loud-mouth who had accosted him- instead of the man who had stormed his way into the apartment in the most typical Mickey-like fashion- looks fucking _playful_. Ian can see the mischievous glimmer and soft light that looks out at him through Mickey’s narrowed eyes. Ian drops the magazine and steps into Mickey’s space across the room- hands going to comfortably rest against Mickey’s face as their eyes lock.

Maybe they could actually have forever this time, Ian wonders.

“Is that okay?”

Mickey’s hands move to grab Ian’s hips, a smile breaking across his face, “Yeah.”

*

“So now that you’ve announced to the whole damn world how fucking gay you are, you gunna propose to him or some shit?”

Mickey chokes on the beer he’s sipping and Ian’s head whips around so fast he feels a crack.

All damn day they’ve been teasing him like the assholes they are. They had stopped by the Gallagher house for a family dinner- something they’ve been trying to do more of as the family keeps growing with partners and babies and unexpected new friends. They had only been there for a couple hours and still each Gallagher had managed to razz him about the damn article. He had been waiting on Lip to deliver a final blow though- the smartass always had to sneak in a few goodhearted comments and then end with a goddamn bang.

And there it was.

The room had erupted in laughter as Carl clapped Mickey on the back and Fiona wrapped her arm around Ian’s waist to squeeze him lightly, “We can only afford one Gallagher wedding a year so hold the fuck off until after mine!”

Although more laughter followed and the marital bliss jokes fell off, Ian could tell as they whispered their goodbyes Mickey was lost in thought. He’d had that look on his face since Lip had joked. The one Ian was intimately familiar with. The “I hadn’t really thought about it but now I’m thinking about it and I feel a type of way about it and I’m freaking the fuck out about it” look.

Ian lifted his hand off the gear shift as they drove their way home and let the weight of his palm rest against Mickey’s thigh, the other gripping the wheel as he followed the road home.

“You remember the first time I told you I was in love with you?”

He can feel Mickey’s head turn to gaze at his face as Ian keeps his eyes fixated on the road.

“Like something out of one of those fucking romance movies Debbie watches.”

Ian laughs and he sees Mickey’s smile out of the corner of his eye.

“I just knew that when I knew, I needed to tell you.”

Mickey snorts, “You’ve never been one to hold back Gallagher.”

Mickey’s fiddling with Ian’s fingers the way he does when they’re cuddled in bed and Ian’s arm is wrapped around Mickey’s middle. It makes him feel so fucking fond that he wishes he wasn’t driving so he could pull Mickey’s mouth to his.

“One day, I’m going to ask.”

He feels Mickey’s fingers still against his and he can’t help but turn his hand over so they’re fingers are interlocking.

He squeezes as he continues, “Because I want that- with you- I do.”

He tilts his head to look at him as he pulls into the parking spot outside his place, “But until then…” they’re eyes are locked together now, “move in with me?”

Figures Mickey’s idea of a response is to unbuckle his seatbelt and straddle Ian in the driver’s seat while he licks his way into his mouth.

Not that Ian’s complaining.

*

They get a new place. Something bigger and brighter and closer to Mickey’s work.

Something that doesn’t have a building full of people who, if the complainants say anything, definitely saw Mickey enthusiastically chanting yes (and not just to moving in with Ian) in the back seat of their car.

A few months into living together Ian’s woken up to the sound of distant ringing. Mickey’s phone is going off but he’s in the shower and it’s this blocked caller which makes Ian a little uneasy but fuck it- they’re boyfriends, they’re living together, they’ve got nothing to hide. 

“Hello?”

A male voice crackles over the line, “Who’s this?”

Ian feels the hair on the back of his neck stand involuntarily, “This is Mickey’s boyfriend.”

“Oh-” there’s a moment of uncomfortable silence- “This is Sebastian.”

The name rings bells in Ian’s head. _Mexico. The bar. Coworkers? No, Liv. Sebastian and Liv_.

“Oh-” Ian suddenly feels like he’s invaded Mickey’s privacy, like a line has been crossed that he can’t go back over, “Mickey’s in the shower but, but I can tell him to call you back?”

“Actually- ah, that’s okay. I was just- Liv and I are- we’re getting **married**.”

“And I wanted to invite Mickey to come down. A little early anyway. If he can. Its next month- end of the month. I wanted to surprise her.”

Ian contemplates it for what feels like 10 years but is honestly half a fucking second because the thought of doing something for Mickey, something that would make him happy, that’s enough of a reason for him to make his decision

“ **We’ll be there**.”

*

“No fucking way.”

It’s the only thing Mickey says before he’s climbing into Ian’s lap and pressing his mouth insistently to his with the plane tickets and the wedding invitation gripped tightly in his hands which are wrapped now around Ian’s neck.

*

They’ve driven them to this yellow building with big beautiful arches and twinkling lights looping down from the roof. Ian wants to sleep- wants to curl up in bed with the sound of the waves and Mickey wrapped in his arms. But he can feel the hum of Mickey’s excitement at being back here- at bringing him here- at seeing all the people he hasn’t seen. So, he muffles the part of him that feels like he’s nothing more than a small part of Mickey’s life and smiles when Mickey looks out the window, then back to him.

When they walk inside Ian can see that space is decked out- there’s a table of food that smells amazing and a stocked bar and the dance floor is already full of people swaying and shouting to the sound of music. Mickey’s hand slips out of his as he’s pulled into the embrace of so many who shout out his name- who clap him on the back and brace their arms around his neck. Ian tenses and counts away the irritation.

He slides to the bar as quickly and quietly as he can. He needs to settle the nervousness that has been building inside him since the moment at the airport when Liv had smiled so brightly at Mickey, and so coolly at him.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Ian looks up to see the bartender with deep brown eyes looking at him- an open beer being placed in front of Ian with a smirk.

“And to see him come back.”

Ian nods his head, smiles and takes a swing of the beer.

“We missed him-” the bartender says softly, then his head swinging to the dance floor, “I think Liv most of all.”

Ian turns to see Mickey laughing, head thrown back, eyes bright. Liv’s hand resting on his shoulder- her smile nearly as bright as they speak to a few other people in the room.

The bartender slips away before Ian can respond- another customer, another empty bottle that needs replacing. Ian wants to tell him he’s grateful he could be the one to bring Mickey back- he wants Mickey to be happy, wants to give Mickey everything he never thought he could. But the other thing inside him, the possessive monster that has knocked a guy out for less, coils its’ way around Ian’s heart. He wants to be the one doing this to Mickey- he doesn’t want to be the reason Mickey ran away; the reason Mickey turned to anything to get away from the aching inside his chest. The aching Ian put there.

Instead, he shakes the thoughts out of his head and lets his hand wrap around the cool beer. God, he needs fucking **air**.

He slides out the side door and wanders to the edge of the patio where he can hear the rolling of waves and see them softly crash against the beach as the lights that wrap around the wooden polls making the gate flicker off the water. He feels his way across the sand, drawn to the quiet, drawn to a place that reminds him _they’re okay now, he’s okay now_. He lets his shoulders relax as he smells the salt of the water; feels a breeze cool enough against his skin to make him feel calm again.

He and Mickey had spoken about it before in moments that felt now like a whole other world ago.

_“You ever been to the beach Gallagher?”_

_“You mean with like … sand and shit?”_

_Mickey’s soft laughter wafted around him in the darkness of their room, “Yeah- sand and ocean and fucking sunshine man.”_

_Ian felt Mickey’s fingers fiddling with his own, “No- you?”_

_“Nah. Maybe one day though. Your ass would burn pretty bad but, maybe huh?”_

It was moments like that Ian, without even looking, knew there was that smile on Mickey’s lips.

“Fuck you doin out here?”

Ian was so lost in the memories and the stillness he whipped around at the sound of another approaching him and calmed when he realized it was just Mickey.

Ian let his fingers grip Mickey’s tightly, “We finally made it to that beach.”

Yeah, Ian definitely knows that smile is on Mickey’s lips, “Guess we did.”

Mickey pulls him back to reality, “Come with me, I want to introduce you to some people.”

*

“Sí, quiero.”

“Sí, prometo.”

Mickey leans against Ian’s chest as they watch Liv and Sebastian reach for each other in a moment that feels almost too intimate for them to be watching. So, Ian turns his face to rest against the side of Mickey’s head, lets his eyes flutter closed and his lips press into Mickey’s sun-kissed skin. In response, he intertwines their fingers.

_“Soft bitch.”_

It makes Ian laugh.

*

“I didn’t want him to go back to you, you know”

Ian’s standing on the balcony overlooking a sweeping beach and an ocean that runs for miles. He had woken up early, the internal clock tracking his dosages never letting him fully relax but then he let himself fall back into the feeling of Mickey’s back pressed against his chest and the salt in the air.

But then he was awake to an empty bed and a scribbled-out note talking about helping down at the restaurant, say his goodbyes, he’ll come back soon. So, Ian took to staring out, feeling a sun he’s never felt before and letting the burn of smoke in his lungs make him feel more familiar, steadier on his feet here.

He hadn’t even heard the clicking open of doors but when he hears that lethal yet gentle voice, he knows it’s not Mickey who’s come to chat.

“He was happy- or getting happy … forgetting about you.”

He’s trying not to let his body tense at her words, at how right he feels down to his bones she probably is. He had seen Mickey the night before, and the night before that. He was different here- loose, warm, comfortable. He settled into the rhythm of a dancefloor in a way Ian had never seen. He only wondered how long it took them to pry this Mickey out. He curses himself for not being here to see it.

“He was living a life and that life; it didn’t begin or end with **_you_**.”

Her words rake over him despite the softness of her tone.

“But he had his sights set- on what exactly _I have no idea_.”

Her scorn isn’t lost on the him. She had been searing it into him with each passing second that they had been in her city. Ian knew they blamed him- for who Mickey was when he came here, for losing Mickey when he left. And still, he didn’t blame them for hating him.

“I don’t have to spell it out for you Gallagher. If I had a say …”

Ian lifts his head to catch her eyes, she almost looks golden in this light with the sun peeking to catch her in a halo. He thinks, in another life, they could have been friends. She would have liked the Ian that brought out the best in Mickey- that Ian brought _out_ Mickey. But right now, all he can feel is her protective curl pulling Mickey away from him.

“Fuck it up- fuck **him** up, and we’ll kill you. I’ll kill you.”

Ian turns back to the ocean; he can see in her peripheral that she’s turning to leave, and he wants to let her go without a word. For Mickey’s sake, he wants to be happy with the idea that Mickey has found people in the world that would say those things for him. But he can’t. He’s never been known for holding his tongue.

“Thank you, you know. For what you did.”

He feels her pause in the doorway as he keeps his eyes fixed on where the horizon meets the ocean. He can’t really tell where the blues begin and the hues of yellow end.

“I’ll never be able to give you anything that could amount to what you did to repair it- to fix what _I know_ I broke. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to him.”

Ian pauses as he drops the cigarette into the charcoal coloured ashtray beside him on the small table. He turns to catch her eyes again, they’re fixed on him now, her back to the horizon, one hand on the glass door. His face stays neutral, he can feel the bile rising inside his stomach, the tightness he always carries that begs to be let free.

“But- just so **_we_** are clear. You do anything, _anything_ to take him away from me- talk him out of this- I don’t really care what you _could_ do. Because I’ll fucking **_gut_** you.”

For a moment he thinks her eyes widen and then a small smirk pulls at the corner of her lip, “Ah. So that’s what he sees.”

She’s gone before Ian can blink and he’s turning back to the horizon.

Another cigarette, another flame, another inhale.

 _Grounding_.

*

They get home when it’s started snowing in Chicago and life ramps up just like it always does. This time it’s with Fiona’s wedding planning and Gallagher dinners and Mandy’s phone calls and Ian’s work trips and Mickey’s flippant schedule. They drift in and out of days in their apartment that are hectic and lazy and warm and frustrating. But, they do it together. And Mickey loves every second of it- of all of it but, he loves their soft moments the most.

He loves them because it’s in those soft moments, the pliable ones that aren’t yet marred by the ticking clocks and fists wrapping on doors when they were both spent that their tension would slide away. Mickey’s hair is definitely mussed up from the way Ian’s fingers had been gripping it, slipping through it, and the stress just _drifts_. Mickey’s muscles relax, and Ian buries his face into the crook of Mickey’s neck. This warm flush skin that rocks Mickey down to his very core.

His breathing will still be ragged, coming out in wrecked breaths from not only the orgasm that’s ripped through him but the weight of Ian on top of him. Mickey’s orgasms never lasted quite as long as Ian’s and he’s sure Ian’s the cause of that- wanting to watch Mickey come before he does just make it that much better. Mickey is running his fingers ever so lightly up the knobs that make up Ian’s spine and the hard muscle that makes up his back. His fingers linger on each ridge still slick with sweat as he worked his way across shoulders and to Ian’s neck.

Mickey wouldn’t say it, but he loved how Ian’s weight held him down. He loved the short exhales puffing from Ian’s lips against his skin, like he was marking Mickey’s neck over and over and over. It didn’t happen all the time, lying like this, but they had been home for so long and the rush back to their life had kept them too far apart. It’s the reason he’s covered in marks too. Something Mickey never left Ian leave on him- not on his neck anyway. But this time, some were bitten in, others sucked harshly into random spots above his collarbone or under his ear. His favourites were the ones people couldn’t see- the ones raked across his hips by Ian’s uncontrollable teeth and tongue. Just for him.

He wanted to soak in it; this time was something special.

Underneath Mickey’s fingers and against his chest from where they lay connected, Mickey could feel Ian’s heart beginning to slow and his breathing returning to normal. He wondered if Ian could feel his- feel the way his heart was still skipping; and his breathing was catching in his throat. Every inhale becoming deeper, an attempt to calm the nervous energy lying beneath his skin from what had slipped out while they were making love. Ian felt calm though, peaceful as he relaxed with a contented sigh, nuzzling into the marks he’d pressed into Mickey’s skin.

But, as relaxed as Ian’s body felt against his, Mickey could still tell that his mind was whirling. They had been back to this for nearly two years now. They had taken their time- they had moved slower than anyone probably should have when you feel like you’re head over fucking heels. But they had. And now, well now Mickey feels like he’s imploded that with one fucking sentence.

He knew that Ian loved him. And he loved Ian. Had known it for as long as he had known Ian. They said it all the time- in big and small ways. It had just become part of their life. But he never really expected what had come out of his mouth- hadn’t expected to say it out loud, in the middle of the best sex they’d had since they got home. But all of a sudden, there was no taking it back. There was no returning to the blissful moments of it hanging in the air around them.

Mickey eyed Ian’s movement as his fingers continue to graze along the back of his neck into his hair and then the muffled noise came as Ian’s hand locked into his free one, “Mick?”

He sounded so beautifully wrecked.

“Yeah?” Mickey let his fingers locked around Ian’s run back and forth along his knuckles, his thumb swiping nervous, fidgety circles.

“You said it.”

For a few seconds, Mickey wanted to pretend, wanted to sound like he was some confused, unsure idiot who had blacked out in the moment and forgotten it entirely. As if the words had left him without his permission in a moment of pure fucking ecstasy.

But fuck, he couldn’t do that, not to Ian, “I know.”

Ian rose from the crook of Mickey’s neck to lock eyes with him. The moment was so serene, and Mickey was wondering which path Ian was about to take them down. A universe where he told Mickey it was too soon, that he wanted it, but it was too soon. Or maybe a universe where he told Mickey he wasn’t sure anymore; he needed more time. That- well that might fucking break him. Micky didn’t even want to dare think about the third one- his anxiety made it feel so far off from an option that all he could do was tighten his grasp on Ian’s hand and breath. Most of all though, as much as Mickey wanted that third option to happen, he wanted it to happen when Ian was ready.

But, in Ian Gallagher fashion, he cuts Mickey’s anxiety off at the knees, “Me too.” 

“Yeah?”

It came out a little fast and definitely breathless as their eyes stay locked, as their chests heave together, as Mickey’s thighs tighten against the bones of Ian’s hips between them.

All Mickey could focus on was Ian’s mouth, “I already told you I wanted to marry you some day. I just thought I’d be the one proposing.”

It was like his heart was suddenly leaping through his fucking chest trying to get to Ian. He was sure Ian could feel it, or maybe it was just from the way Mickey’s eyebrows raised and his smile softened. But Ian smiled as he gently connected their mouths; as his hand free from Mickey’s grasp came up to brush against Mickey’s neck. Somewhere between them they seemed to lock into place. It was right; this was exactly right.

“That’s a yes by the way.”

So, yeah- Mickey loved these soft moments. The pliant ones that made them open and vulnerable and so fucking connected. But this one, this one he was never going to fucking forget.

**Author's Note:**

> “Sí, quiero.” - Yes, I want  
> “Sí, prometo.” - Yes, I promise
> 
> Also, figured I'd give you a timeline = Together [4 years (15 to 19 & 16 to 20)] – Break Up [4 years] – Reunion (23 & 24) – Gallery show [3 years] (26 & 27)


End file.
